


Priapus would cry

by pensee



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Age-Related Erectile dysfunction, Anal Sex, As in dangerous to his health, Brief cumslut Will, Daddy Kink, Don't Try This At Home, Everyone except my mutuals be like smh at this, Hannibal doesn't, Hannibal has a dangerous erection, Hannibal medical logic is not real medical logic, Humor in non-humorous situations, I am ninety-nine percent Daddy kink, I'm Sorry, Improper use of sildenafil, M/M, Murder Husbands, PSA inside, Please pay attention to medication dosage instructions, Post-Series, Post-WOTL, Will has a Great Time at the ER, for those who know me, little bit of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:34:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22627951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pensee/pseuds/pensee
Summary: “Baby, I don’t think that’s normal,” he says, fighting being pulled back as Hannibal, the big creep, tries to spoon him and ignore the fact that his little soldier’s still standing and saluting after he’s already cum five fucking times. “I mean, you got me shooting blanks like three times ago, and yours is still…erm…”Will’s a long way from flustered and awkward—not with their sex life—but this is a somewhat delicate bodily-function issue that he cannot seem to articulately put into words.“It’s not. My body tends to metabolize drugs faster than most; I may have taken an excess dose or two,” Hannibal admits. “Don’t worry, darling. I’ll tend to it soon enough. Go to sleep.”Will scoffs aloud. If Hannibal thinks he’s gonna go to sleep with the threat of that enormous thing humping him while he’s unconscious, he’s got another thing coming.-Hannibal takes a little sildenafil. It does not go well.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 24
Kudos: 264





	Priapus would cry

**Author's Note:**

> Little PSA, as far as I know, etc. etc.: Sildenafil is a blood flow improvement drug, not an increases-arousal drug. This is not an actually humorous situation, please God, get help if you have an erection lasting for longer than is safe.  
> (The only humor to be found in this situation is that Will Graham is eternally a little shit.) Ignoring the warnings on your prescription/medication can lead to low-oxygen conditions in the penile tissue (which may require surgery) and tissue death. 
> 
> ..........Otherwise, enjoy this terrible, awful thing at Hannibal’s expense. (Oh my God, Hannibal, you are my favorite son, and I love you, and I’m so sorry.)

“God, baby, _yes_ , baby, _yes, fuck_ —,” Will’s groaning, feeling like an idiot but uncaring for how far back in his head his eyes are rolling in pleasure. Practically some cross-eyed, getting screwed six-ways-to-Sunday, fucked-dumb bitch, on his hands and knees for someone collectively known as one of the worst monsters to ever grace a newspaper headline; if only Jack Crawford could see him now.

“That mouth always gets you into trouble,” Hannibal chuckle-growls, probably loving it nonetheless, the smug bastard, getting Will to beg _please_ in every language he knows how, now on a daily basis.

“Inside, I fucking want it,” Will demands, spreading himself, both of them liking the cooling smear of cum across his cheeks and needing it deeper instead.

“Greedy boy,” Hannibal snarls, smacks Will’s already cum-drenched butt till Will sobs, tears pricking at his eyes, a tiny puddle of drool pooling on his pillow.

Later, Will’s taken the time to be extra thorough while cleaning himself out, curious as to why Hannibal hadn’t joined him in their excessive excuse for a shower stall—all glass and massaging showerheads—despite the fact that he’s been there for over a quarter hour, an open invitation if there ever was one. Finds his answer in the form of his husband almost-pouting at the truly impressive erection he’s still sporting, tenting their bedsheets as Will’s intention of settling into sleep quickly vanishes, knowing this is exactly what they meant when they warned of boners lasting longer than two hours on those male enhancement commercials.

“Baby, I don’t think that’s normal,” he says, fighting being pulled back as Hannibal, the big creep, tries to spoon him and ignore the fact that his little soldier’s still standing and saluting after he’s already cum five fucking times. “I mean, you got me shooting blanks like three times ago, and yours is still…erm…”

Will’s a long way from flustered and awkward—not with their sex life—but this is a somewhat delicate bodily-function issue that he cannot seem to articulately put into words.

“It’s not. My body tends to metabolize drugs faster than most; I may have taken an excess dose,” Hannibal admits. “Don’t worry, darling. I’ll tend to it soon enough. Go to sleep.”

Will scoffs aloud. If Hannibal thinks he’s gonna go to sleep with the threat of that enormous _thing_ humping him while he’s unconscious, he’s got another thing coming.

“That’s a medical issue, isn’t it? I mean, the worst that could happen is—.”

“Tonight? Tissue damage,” Hannibal lies. He can already guess the treatment involved won’t be sitting on a block of ice, and surgery is a less-than-savory option, so he’ll drive himself to a nearby emergency room as soon as Will drifts off.

“Are you _high_? Not enough blood left in your brain. I know you’re gonna insist on driving you control freak, but I’m going with you,” Will huffs, already at the dresser, putting on clothes over still-damp skin.

Hannibal is peripherally worried enough about his current predicament that he does not clarify to Will that it only takes a relatively small amount of blood to keep a penis erect.

“Fun night, huh?” the attending smirks, a young man with an ill-executed buzz cut and caffeine-dilated pupils, gloved hands palpating Hannibal’s cock, eyeing the remains of coagulated semen on his shaft with interest.

The waiting room was an ordeal and a half, Will insisting on filling out the intake forms for him, despite the emergency having nothing to do with dysfunction of his motor faculties.

“Most of the questions don’t help with diagnosis. They’re liability, for the insurance companies,” Hannibal explains, for the tenth time, when Will asks him whether or not he’s ever had his spleen out.

“Well, I’m just surprised you didn’t have treatment options waiting at home. Did you really think you could just fuck it away?” Will asks.

Hannibal shrugs. “I took a double dose of the generic because the company has been known to dilute the reported amount on the label. It’s never caused problems before.”

“Apparently this time’s different. Maybe we should just buy the brand name, not like we need the money,” Will mutters, terrifying himself with how much he sounds the nagging spouse at that moment. “And even if you did try to treat this at home, I wouldn’t let you stand there for three hours poking needles into your dick to treat yourself. There are professionals to do that.”

 _Professionals still sucking on their mothers’ tits when I was in medical school_ , Hannibal thinks, trying Will’s own particular brand of snarky insight on for size, observing, “You wear the mantle of demanding Southern housewife quite well, my dear,” Will flipping him off before pinching him on the bicep, a nurse in Hello Kitty scrubs gesturing for them to move toward a bed without a curtain.

“March, mister,” Will says, steering him there with a hand on his shoulder.

Hannibal shoots a disparaging look at the security camera posted in the corner nearest the chosen bed. They were on candid camera the moment they drove into the parking lot, and might have risked needing to pack up and move if those security feeds are actually being recorded, but that’s another problem for another day.

Still, the most recent indignity he suffers nearly pushes him over the edge right there.

“Sorry about the lack of privacy,” the nurse says, deadpan and offensively uncaring, and Hannibal nearly rips her throat out, security cameras be damned, if not for Will’s hand in his own, the tentative touch at his forearm.

“It’s no trouble,” he says flatly, almost polite.

The attending steps up a few moments later, while the nurse is taking his vitals, Will sitting at the foot of the bed next to him.

“Fun night,” the doctor says, and Hannibal’s lip curls, subtly, before his expression smooths out.

“It’s likely ischemic,” Hannibal says. “I’d recommend aspiration and phenylephrine. I’m not allergic to other common vasoconstrictors, if Vazculep is not available.”

“Well, I was really going to do a bevy of tests and keep you here for another hour while we waited on the results, but you’ve been reading up on WebMD out there, huh?” the doctor says, patronizing, and Will closes his eyes. _God, why didn’t they ever learn_?

“Yeah, tell him about your _House_ obsession, honey,” Will says, elbowing him, Hannibal studying the attending with calculating eyes. The doctor makes eye contact, smile falling, an uncomfortable frown coming to his face, muttering, “Geez, Grandpa,” under his breath, and Hannibal nearly snorts at the lack of professionalism.

 _Honestly_ , he was old, not deaf.

“Okay, well, I’ve got a woman who’s managed to accidentally chop her hand off carving a candied ham, so I’ll let Nurse Nunez take care of you, alright? Have a good night, gentlemen, and lay off the sildenafil for a while, hm?”

Hannibal’s nose twitches at the smell of a large volume of coagulating blood nearby, and his lips twitch. At least the doctor was not lying about _that_.

Nurse Nunez looks about as thrilled about bloodletting his penis as he is at letting her, but he barely feels the jabs of the needle, having gone concerningly numb a few minutes prior, even without the anesthetic she applies.

“Okay, big boy,” Will laughs, petting the base of his cock as soon as the swelling recedes a bit, Nurse Nunez’s eyelid twitching at the undue display of intimacy.

“Will,” he says, warningly, a smile dancing at the corners of his boy’s mouth nonetheless.

“How about we just try things the natural way, for a while. If you…If you get hard, you get hard. If not, it’s okay. Maybe I’ll just hold it in my mouth, or something. You know I’d probably want it, even if sex wasn’t actually involved.”

Will’s not looking directly at him, which is a blessing, because that way he can’t see Hannibal’s naked anxiousness, or the subtle twist of his hands in their bedsheets.

“Maybe you can focus on me, for a change,” he jokes, which is a terrible commentary on their relationship, really, because Will comes frequently and earth-shatteringly and always, _always_ first.

“I realize the problem is common enough, with age, but I didn’t envision it happening to me,” Hannibal admits, propped up against their headboard although Will has already buried himself into their pillows, hiding his face against Hannibal’s side. “The body is willing…”

“Is that really why you took so many in the first place? Because you didn’t want to go soft in the middle of it?”

Freud’s theories of the unconscious and subconscious largely lack scientific support, but Hannibal won’t deny there was some deep-seated reason for why he felt the slightest frustration at himself, for not being able to perform without aid.

Being with Will was the most wonderful thing he’d experienced in his long life, and the reality that he would not be able to express his ardor for his wonderful boy (spontaneously, anyway) weighed on his mind. Accustomed to flights of whimsy and gratuitous violence at a moment’s notice, being delayed by anything even so insignificant as maintaining a proper erection was a sure blow to his ego.

“Yes,” he says, and Will winds an arm around his torso.

“Baby, I don’t _have_ to come eighty times a day, with your cock in me or not. I think you’re taking things to extreme, like always.”

“I want you to have every bit of me that you desire,” Hannibal says, before thinking, and frowns at the honesty of his blurted confession.

“I already do,” Will whispers, kissing his shoulder, dragging him down from the headboard so they’re level. “I don’t care if you can’t get it up. You’ve still got a mouth, your hands…”

Hands that had squeezed the life out of men and women of all ages, swung butcher’s cleavers, held proof of his sister’s mortality in their dirty palms.

The hands that carved a place for himself into the flesh of his beloved, a place he deepened every day.

“I suppose I’ve fallen victim to the midlife crisis. I’ve accepted the fact that I will age and die, but like every other man, I always thought it would wait another year to manifest itself.”

“It’s happening, whether we like it or not. To me too,” Will says, into his shoulder. Then, mischievous, “So don’t worry about it, Papa.”

Hannibal raises an eyebrow. “Pardon?” he snorts.

“You heard me, _Papa_ ,” Will repeats, brow raising as he realizes, “Hm, you like that, huh.”

Hannibal’s audible swallow is all the proof he needs, Will teasingly gasping, “Oh, _hello_ , big boy…” at the reaction the damnable word garners, _hard_ -won as it is.

Hannibal tumbles him till dawn, no pharmaceutical help needed.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, you probably shouldn’t have sex this soon after getting treated for a sildenafil overdose, but this is creative license, so. Plz don’t @ me on that. 
> 
> For anyone who found this terrible clusterfuck amusing, we’ll probably get along, so look me up @penseeart on Twitter, where I write shit like this all the time.


End file.
